Concepto.- Derecho de Alimentos

1967 was one of the most significant years of my life. I got married. The justification I give for my prolonged bachelorhood is a quotation from E.M. Forster—‘All those that marry do well. All those that refrain do better.’ This was, to some extent, off the mark. I did not completely rule marriage out.

Neither did I share the view of Beatrice Webb, who considered marriage the wastepaper basket of emotions. However, the phrase that marriages were made in heaven, I thought, was banal and silly.

Married people did not live in heaven. A perfect marriage, I thought, was a mirage. I was wrong.

Foreign services the world over provide endless opportunities for philandering. The temptations are many and opportunities even more. I had my fill of affairs. These were international in scope and short-lived.

I first set my eyes on my future wife, Hem, the daughter of the Maharaja of Patiala, at a dinner hosted by Dinesh Singh, a Minister of State in the Ministry of External Affairs and Indira Gandhi’s close counsellor at the time. Although he was a man with a swollen head, I personally owe him a huge debt for his lasting and profound contribution to my future happiness and well-being.

Each one of us has an idea of beauty. I cannot define mine, but I can recognize it straightaway. She was elegantly dressed and beautiful. She carried herself with poise and style. Her figure was eye-catching and her dignity radiant. She moved with silent grace. Sardul Vikram Shah, Dinesh Singh’s brother-in-law and Chief of Protocol, formally introduced me to her. She gave me an indifferent regal nod. Someone else approached her and I moved on. My mind, though, was on her and my eyes followed her everywhere. Towards the end of the dinner, I asked her if I could telephone her. I had taken a calculated risk. She neither said yes, nor no. It was high-class restraint. We were total strangers. Her world and mine were like chalk and cheese. Had I been presumptuous? Had I crossed the line of propriety?

I fell in love with Hem. Our near clandestine courtship lasted fourteen months. I was pleasantly surprised to discover her interest in books. She did not flaunt her princely persona. That was real class.

On her birthday, 1 June 1967, I invited her to lunch at a restaurant with an atrocious name, Gaylord, near the Regal Cinema in Connaught Circus. We had got to know each other well. I thought the courtship had lasted long enough. After serious and anxious reflection, I decided to propose marriage.

We had got through the first course. I could not bear waiting any more. On an impulse, I said that I had a birthday present for her. ‘Thank you, what is it?’ she asked.

‘It’s not it. It’s me. I am asking you to marry me.’ She gave an uncomprehending look. It was a highly unorthodox way to propose. She was silent for a moment or two. If she said ‘no’, my world would come tumbling down. If she said ‘yes’, I would be on cloud nine. She did neither. She said, ‘I will think about it.’

Hope and despair was mixed. It was foolish for me to expect an immediate acceptance. I realized that brought up as she was in an elitist, exclusive environment, she could hardly be expected to come up with an instant acceptance.

For three weeks, she kept me in harrowing suspense. On 21 June, she accepted my proposal. It was one of the most memorable days of my life.

Her family disapproved of me. To them, an IFS officer working in Indira Gandhi’s secretariat was not good enough. But Hem stuck to her decision. A date was fixed.

A month before the wedding, I got measles. The date had to be changed. This caused unrestrained, maddening ribaldry. Friends were hugely amused.

I had asked Indira Gandhi to be a witness at my civil marriage. My mother-in-law to be had asked two of her political friends—Chief Minister Parmar of Himachal Pradesh and Lok Sabha MP Nath Pai—to do so too, as three witnesses were required by law.

We were married at Patiala House, 9, Tees January Marg on 21 August 1967. Magistrate R.K.

Anand did the honours. This was followed by a Sikh wedding. A day later, my in-laws, Maharaja Yadavindra Singh and Maharani Mohinder Kaur, held a reception at the Ashoka Hotel. It was quite an occasion. Indira Gandhi and her Cabinet colleagues came, as did most of the well-known people in Delhi. It was called the wedding of the year.

I embarked on marriage with joy and ecstasy. So did Hem. We lived in a small house opposite Lodi Gardens. Hem was used to living in palaces but she handled the transition from palace to a D-1 house without any complaint or fuss. But marriage is not a ticket to eternal bliss. Hem and I realized how strong-willed we both were. In addition, I was insufferably self-righteous, with a slight chip on my shoulder. Two people living so close do get on each other’s nerves. It is inevitable that at times discord overtakes harmony. Adjustments are unavoidable and these were made, not always without pain.

K. Natwar Singh, Jawaharlal Nehru and President Dwight D. Eisenhower, 1961

Front row: Premier Chou En-lai, Marshal Chu Teh, Dr S. Radhakrishnan, Chairman Mao Tse Tung, Ambassador R.K. Nehru, President Liu Shaoqi. K. Natwar Singh is seen in the back row, third from right

With C. Rajagopalachari, New York, 1962

With E.M. Forster, Cambridge, 1954

Jawaharlal Nehru, R.K. Narayan and K. Natwar Singh, Teen Murti House, 1961

With Raja Rao, New York, 1963

With M.F. Husain painting his portrait, New York, 1963

K. Natwar Singh, R.K. Narayan and Mulk Raj Anand;

With Nirad Chaudhuri, Oxford;

With Ahmed Ali, Karachi;

With Thakazhi Sivasankara Pillai, Thakazhi;

With Amaury de Riencourt and Han Suyin, Geneva

With Santha Rama Rau, New York

With Madame Soong Chingling, 1955

R.N. Kao, with P.N. Dhar

P.N. Haksar

With Lord Mountbatten, London, 1975

With His Holiness, The Dalai Lama. Also seen in the picture is Vikas Swaroop

With Dev Kant Barooah, Congress President, and Indira Gandhi, 1974

K. Natwar Singh and B.K. Nehru visit an ailing Jayaprakash Narayan, London, 1977

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